more often than not, sundays are terrrible, or, peace and glycolysis

More often than not, Sundays are terrible. I don't wake up until the afternoon. And despite fervently wishing that the to-do list would have disappeared with the passing weekend, I must complete the thirteen tasks of Hercules in a twelve hour stretch. Oh yeah, and I usually have almost no motivation.

This Sunday was different. I woke up at eight thirty. I ate breakfast and called home and then proceeded to tackle the list. I am pretty good at putting more things on a list than I can get done in a day; today was no exception. But I feel like I did pretty well. I am at peace. I am going to learn two more Glycolysis reactions and then I am going to bed.

competing visions of hell

in my warped mind, hell is

a) an enormous music rehersal, in which you are the last act to practice. the number of groups before you is infinite and time passes slowly whilst you sit in limbo, instrument in hand, vaciliating between staying and leaving, being ready and missing your chance. you are hardly more useful than a human vegetable.

b)having your hands tied behind your back while wearing a one hundred percent wool sweater with no undershirt in a hot room where the windows don't open.

i think b is worse, although i hate long, drawn-out dress rehersals. what's the point of this rather gloomy post? i am just trying to make myself feel better about studying in the fishbowl by myself after midnight. [sigh] it's pretty miserable. but it sure beats hell by a long shot.

there must be a better way to study.

Powered by Bleezer

the telephone and arabic verbs

damn. i hate the telephone.

well, actually i hate the fact that i am super awkward on said device. i think we should all go back to using dixie cups and string. [deep breath to expel frustration]

well, back to arabic verbs.

arabic sentence of the day:

أَنَا عَدَقْتُ عَقْلِي كَذَا أَكْرِبُ حِمَارِي وَأَخْرَجُ وَأَوْجَدُهُ

pronounced: anaa adáktu áklee katha ákribu (h)imáaree wa-ákhraju wa-áwjaduhu
translation: i have lost my mind, so i will hop on my donkey and I will go out and find it.

two questions and an answer

in my recent pondering, two questions have arisen. and oh, how they plague me with their unansweredness.

1. how does one separate the God-inspired ideas from the human brain noise?

2. how do we reconcile the desire to follow our dreams with the call to be good stewards of our talents, if they seem to lead in opposite directions?

when I figure out suitable answers, i'll be sure and post them.

oh yeah, i almost forgot about the answer. and no, it's not an answer to the above questions.

so when i heard this physics professor says this, it changed my life. well, that's an exaggeration; it did however, change my immediate reality for the better. and i quote,

well, it [being a physics major] really isn't set in stone, you could always switch back, at most losing only a quarter.

i almost hugged him. luckily for him, i was able to control the urge and spare him and myself some embarassment, considering i just met the guy a week or two ago.

simple as hilbert's problems

i have decided that i cannot complain about my social life (or lack thereof). it occured to me that while i would love to believe that i am somehow a victim of circumstance, what it boils down to is how i choose to live and with whom i choose to interact with. i mean, gosh. here's a straw, phil, suck it up. if i was whining about being too tall or perhaps that the sky is always gray, that would be at least moderately acceptable, albeit still complaining and therefore the bane of my existence.

that's a funny juxtaposition of ideas. to hate complaining and find yourself doing it every once in a while. kinda like how i hate washing dishes, but i hate seeing them lay around dirty and so i end up washing them. damn character building.

oh dear. i feel as though cursing has somehow found itself in my vocabulary. there are so many words in the english language, yet there are very few that have the acute poignancy of foul, four-letter words. it probably doesn't help that i think the f-bomb is the funniest curse word ever. i'm likely going to hell. shoot. as opposed to its dirty cousin of four letters. ha, saved myself there.

so it's coming down to the wire. i have approximately 8 weeks to definitively decide my future/academic fate/major. there will be no turning back. its pretty much down to physics/spanish/min in french or spanish/french/min in chemistry. i suppose the mysterious third option--perhaps a major i am not considering--might rear its ugly head. so if any of you who read this have some insight or perhaps a blood tie to miss cleo and her psychic powers, feel free to advise/prophesy/tocar la guitarra--thats bs for the non hispanohablantes.

and i will leave you with this. prophecy is a noun and prophesy is a verb. i didn't know that. i had to look it up. learn something new every day.